


a shot through the dark

by cinderlily



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 15:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8167480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderlily/pseuds/cinderlily
Summary: He’d seen the sheet by accident, even though he’d possibly not been in the place he should have been. Either way, it was an accident. He didn’t go looking for room numbers. He wasn’t creepy or anything. But the initials MB and number 89 next to 771 was clear as day and maybe he should have let it go but today he decided not to. (In which Oliver visits Mikkel)





	

Oliver made his excuses to the guys, they’d lost which was really an easy way to get out of most things. It wasn’t like going out was much fun when you were nursing a loss to a divisional rival right when it actually meant something. 

He took his time during the scrum, answering all the questions thoroughly for a change and not playing the language barrier card. He was wasting time and he could tell a few people around him could see but no one made any comments. It was nice to have teammates he could trust when it came down to the real things. 

He was one of the last in the shower and by far the last to get out. He got dressed in his most casual clothing and even though he knew that the coldest it could be outside was maybe in the mid sixties he threw on a beanie just cause.

There was no one in the hallways, no fans lingering around for an autograph or any press trying to get in one more question that they’d forgotten. He nodded to the security guy, slipped in his ear phones and kept his head down. 

Instead of taking the exit to the cars he walked around the back and to the part that led to the hotel. For whatever reason there were still lingering fans around, but they were mostly there for the bar and weren’t paying enough attention to see the one guy walking by himself. 

He’d seen the sheet by accident, even though he’d possibly not been in the place he should have been. Either way, it was an accident. He didn’t go looking for room numbers. He wasn’t creepy or anything. But the initials MB and number 89 next to 771 was clear as day and maybe he should have let it go but today he decided not to. 

The Sharks fans in the lobby were low key, as most of the fans usually were. There was always a group of security there but the security knew him well enough. He had friends on other teams, after all, and he liked to go and visit them when he could. 

“Oliver,” his favorite security guy, Sam, smiled at him. He took out his earbuds and slipped them in his pocket. “Who is it this time?” 

Oliver ducked his head and thought of the first name that he could. “Melker, of course.” 

Sam hit the elevator button. “I think I might’ve seen him leave a little while ago.” 

“Can’t hurt to try?” 

The elevator doors opened and Sam didn’t stop him going in. He hit the seventh floor and looked down at his shoes as the doors closed. He had a keen fear of some fan putting two and two together and a picture ending up on Instagram. Even if this went better than he expected he was not eager to see the fallout from that picture. 

Floors dinged passed at a painfully slow rate and Oliver’s heart beat seemed to get stronger in his chest. He took his phone out of his pocket to fiddle with it but all he saw was text messages from the guys, conspicuously asking how he was doing and if he’d gotten home safe yet.

He opened the screen and let all the messages clear off just as the door dinged open. He looked up to see a few random players walking around the floor and he felt like a bright spotlight was on him. He smiled, trying to seem as calm as can be, but was aware at him being tracked as he walked down the hallway. 

The door was left open on the hinge, just slightly. He hesitated at the idea of just opening it. Rather he braced himself and knocked. 

“Come in, fucker!” he heard a familiar voice. “I told you I’d be ten minutes. Ten minutes isn’t at your will…” 

It swung open and a half naked Mikkel opened the door. A rush of familiar cologne came out at him and Oliver almost turned to run. 

“Ollie?” Mikkel asked. 

Oliver’s body wasn’t letting him move. Or think. Or breathe.

“Hvud faden?”

“I should go,” Oliver said, surprised at his own voice, something had clicked, he turned back towards the elevator. 

Mikkel reached his arm out and grabbed Oliver’s upper arm. “Wait. Don’t… Wait. Just don’t go anywhere. One minute?” 

Even though Oliver really really wanted to just bolt, he stood still while the door closed and he heard rustling from the room, a thump and a curse before Mikkel came back with a shirt on. 

“Come in?” Mikkel asked. 

Oliver swallowed then nodded. He’d had all these thoughts in his head even minutes beforehand, clear concise things he’d thought he was going to say to Mikkel. Rational arguments, apologies for when he’d messed up. But his mind was blank and all he could think was that even though he’d seen him probably a half a dozen times on the ice he’d forgotten how good he looked _off of it_. 

“You look good, Ollie,” Mikkel said, staring at him like he might disappear. “Do you want something to drink? I have water and I think some Gatorade in my bag…” 

Oliver shrugged. “Water.” 

“Oh yeah,” Mikkel grabbed a glass off of the TV counter. “You don’t like the blue stuff, I remember.” 

Mikkel was flitting around so fast Oliver felt like he was watching a hummingbird. He took a chair in the corner and Mikkel handed him the cup. To be honest he wasn’t even beginning to be thirsty but sipped at it. It felt polite. 

“What are you doing here?” Mikkel asked, taking a seat on the end of his bed, close but not too close. 

“I don’t know,” Oliver answered honestly. “I saw you tonight, on the ice. I remembered San Jose stayed here and all I could think was… you were here.” 

Mikkel half-smiled. “So you came to see me, Oliver?” 

“I guess,” he sipped at his cup. “I had a speech.” 

The smile dropped from Mikkel’s face. “A speech?” 

There was a knock at the door and Mikkel jumped up. “Fuck. Fuck.” 

He strode to the door but only opened it an inch. He talked to whoever was on the other side in a low voice but the person responded back loudly. He got called a wimp, a wuss, and a few things Oliver literally felt sick at. Too close for comfort, he figured. 

After a minute Mikkel came back, having locked the door and put the little knob in place over the top of it. He was anxiously running his fingers through his hair with both of his hands. He couldn’t seem to meet Oliver in the eyes but he looked quite interested in Oliver’s beat up sneakers. 

“That was just… not important,” he waved his hand. “Um. You said something about a speech?” 

Oliver put the cup down on nearest cabinet space. “It doesn’t matter, Mikkel. I shouldn't have come. I guess it was just habit to be closer to you if I could.” 

He got up and made it maybe a step before Mikkel came up in his space, as close as he could get without touching him. 

“Please,” he whispered, inches from Oliver. “Please, can I just try something?” 

Oliver felt himself go cross-eyed trying to get a good look at Mikkel. He felt Mikkel’s breath on his lips and … fuck it. He nodded. Lips met and it was like falling back in time, his skin meeting Mikkel’s the spaces closing of their own volition. There was no awkwardness, no relearning, it was like they’d done this every day. 

Mikkel’s hands were in his hair and his lips were traveling, kisses and nips and licks. Oliver tried to take a step towards the bed but misstepped and hit Mikkel in the knee, which earned him and oof but nothing more than that. He turned a little and Mikkel went with him, plastered to his skin. 

“Oliver, min Gud,” he whispered when he came up for breath. “Undskyld, unskyld, unskyld…” 

They fell into a lump on the bed and the lights were all around them and Oliver knew enough Danish to know what was being said. ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ over and over and over into his skin. It was vindicating, it was painful, and it was god… it was not what he had expected in the least. He pushed desperately at his skin. “Mikkel.” 

Mikkel was rucking his own shirt up over his head and pulling it off, but he looked down at Oliver the second he said his name. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, still flushed from his ears down through his now bare chest but anxious. 

“We will have to talk,” Oliver said, knowing it might ruin the moment but unable to go further without it being out there. Without taking away the easy out for Mikkel. 

Mikkel knelt his head down to meet Oliver’s forehead, breathing ragged. “Okay.” 

Oliver pressed a kiss up, then went to take his own shirt off. He kissed him again and bucked up slightly, glad that he’d worn his slightly less tight jeans. He unbuckled them and pulled them down, kicking madly to try and get them off. Mikkel laughed and pulled at them for him, kneeling on the bed as he pulled down his own pants. As soon as the top button came off Oliver’s breath caught on a laugh. 

“You still wear my underwear?” 

Mikkel, if anything, went redder. “Yes?” 

He pulled him down into a kiss by his neck. It was the closest he could get to explain what was going on in his brain at that moment and somehow he thought that Mikkel might just be the one to get it. 

There was nothing but skin, kisses, sweat and words in a mix of languages after that. 

* 

They must have fallen asleep sometime after, but were thankfully woken by Oliver’s cell phone buzzing loudly in his pocket on the floor by the bed. Oliver dove to grab it and saw the number and adrenaline ran through his body. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“I don’t know,” Shane’s familiar annoyed tone came over the voice. “I have about four guys calling me repeatedly saying you never made it home. I told them you are an adult but apparently that isn’t enough to keep me from getting less sleep than when Carys had colic... They went to your house.” 

“Helvete,” he rubbed his eyes. “Sorry Cap, just uh. I’m fine.” 

Shane sighed. “I’m turning my phone off. Text them, all of them… And tell Mikkel I say hi.” 

The line went silent and Oliver looked at his call log. He’d set it to turn off notifications except from people on his list… but apparently half a dozen of the guys felt it their duty to make sure he was okay. He sent out a text to the group with a quick, ‘Get off my lawn, I’m fine.’ before shutting off his phone. 

Mikkel was staring at his phone as well with a grimace. “Max has some pretty clear ideas of what he will do to me if I hurt you.” 

He looked at the clock, it was just past four in the morning. He got back into the bed and sighed, looking at the ceiling. It was far from the ideal time or place to actually have this conversation but there were planes to catch and apparently former rookies to turn his hose on. Mikkel laid and turned towards him, all the tells of being braced for the worst. 

Oliver put his thumb between Mikkel’s eyebrows and rubbed hard to relax the obvious tension. Mikkel batted at his hand but smiled. 

“We fucked up,” Oliver said, going off script from his earlier speech. To be fair he hadn’t been freshly laid when he thought up the other one. “We fucked up hard. You were hurt and I didn’t listen. I should of. I was hurt and you didn’t listen.” 

Mikkel nudged him. “Way to sum up the worst six months of my life.” 

“They weren’t my finest either,” he nudged back. “I was so mad, Meeks.” 

Mikkel nodded. “And now?” 

“I’m… sad.” The word was inaccurate but even if it’d been in Swedish he wouldn’t have the proper word for it. 

This wasn’t the answer Mikkel was expecting it seemed as he opened and shut his mouth a few times, unable to start a sentence. 

“You are a four hour flight away,” Oliver said. “We barely had time to be together during the season when we _lived together_. How is this supposed to be anything?” 

Mikkel kissed Oliver’s shoulder, an old habit. Apparently there was a freckle there, not that Oliver could see it, but Mikkel had always found it to be his favorite place to kiss. He let the silence settle for a minute before he said anything. 

“We make it something,” he said, simply, looking up at Oliver. “We make it important. It won’t be ideal. It won’t be … what we want. But it’ll be what we can have. Fuck, I’ll move to Sweden in the breaks so you can run OEL. We can meet in LA on long breaks. I don’t know, Oliver. I know we can’t be what we were but how do we go back to what we were yesterday after this? I don’t want to, do you?” 

Oliver thought about it for half of a second. “I don’t. I really don’t.” 

Mikkel smiled and kissed his shoulder again. “Good. Good. We figure it out, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

Mikkel cuddled up along his side like an octopus. “Now sleep a little longer. I don’t have bus call for four hours. We have lost time to make up for.” 

“Lost time?” Oliver mused, and rolled over on top of Mikkel. 

They didn’t get much time to sleep after that.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, hockey. You're starting up and my heart is hurting.


End file.
